


In all my Dreams I Drown

by The_Grey_Rose



Category: Fable - Fandom, Fable 2
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Romance, pirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Grey_Rose/pseuds/The_Grey_Rose
Summary: Fable 2 Alternate Universe where Sparrow(AFAB, she/her) runs away the night before Theresa would have inducted her into the Hero’s Guild.  To avoid being caught and dragged back to her destiny, Sparrow stows away aboard the nearest ship...Reaver’s ship.This AU will follow Sparrow and Reaver’s adventures and explore the influence of Sparrow’s late-pirate parents; in addition to delving into the themes of loss, guilt, and letting go prevalent in both of their stories.Reaver acts, albeit unintentionally, as Sparrow’s heroic guide; ultimately leading her the destiny she’s so desperately avoided.
Relationships: Hero of Bowerstone/Reaver (Fable), reaver (fable)/sparrow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

In all my Dreams I Drown

## Chapter 1: Now or Never

She tosses and turns in her bedroll, awake far later than any living soul has a right to be. Pulling her pillow over her head, she lets out a muffled scream of pure frustration, throwing it to the side as she sits up with purpose.

She just can’t take it anymore. One more day of _fate_ and _duty_ and _isolation_ and she swears she’ll lose it. Perhaps, she thinks more and more often, _she’d rather have been left where she lay that cold autumn night._ At very nearly twenty years old, young Sparrow feels like a caged tiger in this quiet little community; a thirst for adventure running deep in her bones.

 _Tonight’s the night._ She slips silently from her tent, no belongings to weigh her down save for the knife she’d found buried deep in the sand by the lake, and a small sack of coins she’d earned apprenticing under the village’s tattooist. She hoped it would be enough to buy herself a decent weapon; she was confident in her ability to hunt and forage to feed herself-but she didn’t want to go traipsing into bandit territory with nothing but a rusty knife and her own two fists; not if there was another option.

It’s more than just the cool night air bringing goosebumps to her skin; in truth, Sparrow is terrified. She was so young when Teresa had taken her in; the Seeress had been very clear that she was under no circumstances to leave Bowerlake, would she even _belong_ in the outside world anymore? Her nails dig into her palms, more self conscious than ever before. When she was a child on the streets, her lack of education was forgivable- _expected_ even, but as a grown woman, she is painfully aware of her lack of knowledge. _Combat techniques?_ Sure. _Obscure Albion history no sane person even cares about?_ Got it covered. Everything else, she was forced to rely on what little she could learn from passing travelers, and books she could haggle off of traders with her meager earnings. Thank the gods Rose had taught her to read _before_ …

Sparrow pats her old dog’s head as they approach the gates to Bowerstone, the guard leaning against the stone walls. She opens her mouth to gain his attention, but notices him fast asleep. She’d waited her whole life for her freedom, she was not about to be delayed further. Deft fingers steal the keys to the city gates away from the guard’s belt, and Sparrow slips through the door before anyone has time to notice her.

She steps uneasily onto the bridge to the city, taking a deep breath to strengthen her resolve as she marches on; dog plodding loyally on behind her.

First stop is the Blacksmith, and then she’s off. She knows she can’t afford to stay long-Teresa is sure to notice her eventually, _nothing gets past her for long._ She moves swiftly for the Smithy, light of the forge illuminating the blacksmith as he wipes his sweaty face with a filthy towel.

“Sorry miss,” he grunts, watching Sparrow approach. “All closed up ‘til morn’.”

“Please,” she urges, following him as he closes up. “I’m traveling north and I need-”

“ _I_ need to go home and rest,” he sighs, recognizing the desperation in her young eyes, reminding him of his own daughter. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go rest up at the inn, in the morning I’ll make sure you’re all kitted out.”

She forces a small smile; she’s grateful for the assistance, but she knows she can’t stay that long. Once Teresa wakes, she’ll be looking for her, and this town is the first place she’ll look. Still, the Inn would be a good place to look for traders who may have the goods she needs. “Thank you, enjoy your night,” she nods, turning away.

She stands outside the _Cow & Corset_, fingers buried nervously in the dog’s warm fur. “Will you be okay out here boy?” 

The dog looks up at her, head cocked to the side with his usual toothy dog grin, he offers a couple of lazy wags, and a whine, as if to ask if _she_ was going to be okay. Sparrow presses her forehead into the dog’s fur and laughs with some sense of relief. “I’ll be alright boy, you wait here for me okay?”

The dog gives a single affirming bark before curling up beside the door. _Good boy._

One last deep breath and she’s crossing the threshold, immediately enveloped in a comforting warmth, and the heavy aroma of delicious foods she’s never tasted. Her ears are lit with the raucous laughter of happy patrons and the playful strumming of a lute. She can’t help but feel so out of place amongst all these happy people.

Unbeknownst to her, she’s caught the attention of a fellow patron, his icy blue eyes keeping track of her as she mingles with the traders who had flocked here for the night.

There were all manner of goods available tonight, but nothing she’s after; though it takes great effort for her to save her coin when she comes across a bookseller with volumes she’s never heard of.

Sullen and defeated, she takes a seat at the bar, distancing herself from the gleeful crowd. She hadn’t wanted to take the risk of traveling without a suitable weapon, but now she sits with her fingers pressed tightly to her temples; desperate for her freedom but so very unsure of her plan…it _hadn’t_ been a plan, after all; if she had planned it, Teresa no doubt would have known.

The bartender sets a heavy mug of mead down in front of her with a loud _clack_ of thick glass on wood, startling her out of her thoughts. She looks up at him, moon eyed, and reaches for her purse. Her eyes flit over the coins nervously, she didn’t want to make any unnecessary purchases, but she _had_ sat at the bar…

“No need,” the bartender pipes up, nodding toward the tavern’s corner table. “Gentleman in the back’s paid already.”

Sparrow looks over her shoulder with a stunned look, a blush building in her cheeks when her eyes meet his. He treats her to a cheeky grin, a devilish playfulness lighting up his eyes. She tries her best to offer a polite smile, but she’s out of her element. She quickly looks away, staring into the sweetly scented amber liquid.

Growing up so sheltered, being raised on a very singular purpose, Sparrow hadn’t had the opportunity to sample any alcoholic concoctions. As such, she sips the drink gingerly, the cold honey sweet liquid tingling her tongue with a strange burn as she swallows.

She is startled by a warm hand ghosting her back as a man slips into the seat next to hers. She looks up to see the man who’d bought her drink, and she feels her heart’s pace pick up.

“When I ordered your drink, I had hoped you’d come to sit with me,” he smiles, eyes deceptively soft. 

She looks at him, mouth just barely agape. She’d never seen a man quite like him before, dressed so finely in deep reds and luxurious cream. Were she not so naturally perceptive, his handsome features would have distracted her from the subtle flecks of dried blood that stain his clothes. The man is _dangerous_ , and yet she finds herself further enticed by the aire of adventure he exudes.

“ _I-I apologize_ ,” she stammers, fingernails digging unconsciously into her palm. “I’m… _new_ here, I-”

He cuts her off with a gloved finger pressed lightly against her lips. “No need to apologize, _Darling_ ,” he looks at her through half-lidded eyes. “I’m not _entitled_ to your company; if you like I’ll leave you to your drink, take it as a compliment… _or_ …”

“… _or?_ ” She parrots, eyes flitting from his eyes to his hand for only a moment has his finger glides from her lips to brush her hair from her face.

“Or perhaps you’ll come back to my table and give an old sailor the _pleasure_ of your lovely company?”

His subtext falls on deaf ears, the naive young woman collecting her drink as she moves to stand. “I… _suppose_ one drink couldn’t hurt,” she says, making mental note of the time.

A decadent grin spreads across his features as he stands, hand nestled firmly in the small of her back, to guide her to her seat across from his.

“I’ll be honest,” he says, taking his seat across from her. “You’re oddly _familiar_ , that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” His eyes narrow ever so slightly. “I can’t quite place _why_ you’re familiar…I was hoping you might be able to remedy my predicament.”

“Oh,” she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, unused to the luxury, and unsure of how much personal information she should share with this stranger… _handsome_ though he may be. “You wouldn’t know me…I’ve lived ‘round the lake for most of my life; haven’t been to town since I was a small child.”

His eyes widen. “ _Truly?_ Now that is curious, I’m hardly ever wrong about these things…”

“I’m sorry to waste your time,” she mumbles awkwardly, digging her nails into her palm as she avoids his gaze.

His hand moves to cover hers, an aire of intimacy in his eyes as he leans across the table. “ _My dear_ , sharing a drink with a beautiful young woman is _never_ a waste of time.”

Her pulse quickens, her hand instinctively retracting to her chest as her eyes go wide. “ _W-What does that mean?_ ” She had been called beautiful before, but never by someone like him. She doesn’t understand what a man like _him_ could want from someone like her.

He stands smoothly, offering his hand to her with a suave grin. “It means I’d like you to _indulge_ me with a dance.”

She stares at his hand like she’d seen a ghost, looking up at him with big moon eyes. “I’ve never danced couples,” she admits.

He takes her hand anyway, guiding her to the dance floor. “I’ll teach you.”

She falls into him as he pulls her to her feet, and she grips his shirt tightly. 

“ _Trust me,_ ” he grins salaciously.

She smiles at him nervously as he leans away to whisper something to the bard-a song request, by the look of it.

One would think in the culture she was raised in, she would be accustomed to music and dance…but Teresa had very largely isolated her, assailing her with long history lessons, or making her run combat drills until she dropped from exhaustion while the other children laughed and played together. This made her living situation… _awkward_. She lived amongst her peers, but none of them really got the chance to _know_ her, nor she them. She was the girl one waves to, but never the girl one seeks out for the joy of her company.

 _“You seem distracted,_ ” the man whispers into her hair as he sways her to the rhythm of the music.

Sparrow startled, squeezing his hand. “ _Forgive me_ , I-”

He hushes her, pressing his forehead against hers. “You don’t need to explain yourself.” He twirls her around suddenly, her wide eyes locked on him as he cradles her body into his. “Just _enjoy_ yourself.”

She smiles at him, genuinely this time. It had been a long time since she thought of her own _enjoyment_ ; perhaps it was a good thing the Smithy had closed for the night…

She allows him to lead her around the dance floor, sheepish smiles and wholesome laughter when she slips up more than a few times. He is always there to catch her, encouraging a level of comfort entirely unfamiliar to her. She finds herself leaning more and more confidently into his touch-not having realized how desperately she craved such a simple interaction.

The song ends, and the pair of them laugh breathlessly, staring into each other’s eyes. She doesn’t notice when he leans in however, and she twirls away from him, smiling back in his direction, before she snatches the bard’s lute.

She begins to play a simple tune with surprising ease, singing from her heart a song of freedom and a longing for adventure. The man’s eyes are frozen on her, his mouth ever so slightly agape. Something about her _enraptures_ him, so thoroughly in fact that he remains in this state until the bard claps him on the shoulder, smiling and laughing joyously, in awe of Sparrow’s song.

The words continue to flow from within as she whirls around the dance floor, thoroughly flushed and having the time of her life… _until she spies out the window the telltale colors of the sunrise threatening to reach out above the horizon._

As quickly as she began, she thrusts the bard’s lute back into his arms, eyes darting frantically as panic sets in.

The man squints in frustration, if there were something out of place, _he_ of all people would notice. _So why, pray tell_ , was she so distraught all of a sudden? He reaches for her, gripping her arm perhaps a bit too tightly. “ _Where are you going?_ Why the sudden _urgency?_ ”

She pulls her arm away, piercing him with her harried gaze. “ _I’m sorry,_ ” she almost shouts, backing away hastily toward the exit.

He takes a few confused steps after her, hand still in the air. “ _Now, wait just a-_ ”

“ _I’m sorry!_ ” She cuts him off, darting out into the night.

Ever loyal, her dog riles instantly when she steps outside, running at her heels as she flees into the darkness.

She stops, breathless, at the docks; nearly _screaming_ into the sky as she drops to sit against the cool stone, desperately trying to collect herself. The dog lays down beside her, resting his big fluffy head on her lap with a comforting whine. Sparrow runs her fingers through his fur, grounding herself.

“Oh dog… _what are we going to do?_ ”

No sooner than she speaks does she spy a hooded figure in the distance, barely visible in the darkness. Her heart hammers in her chest, adrenaline flooding her senses. 

_It’s now or never._

She makes her decision, for better or worse, and slips undetected onto the nearest ship; loyal companion right behind her.


	2. The Sparrow Sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught red handed as a stowaway, Sparrow makes a deal with the Pirate Captain...though it doesn’t go as she expects
> 
> For his part, Reaver finds himself hell-bent on pulling this beautiful young stowaway out of her shell

Arms wrapped tightly around her beloved companion, Sparrow buries her face in the dog's fur. The millet crate they chose to hide in seemed secure enough, and no one’s come to check it for _hours_ , but she worries about her dog. He’s a good boy, but will he be able to stop himself from growling should he feel threatened? It would have been safer to leave him behind, but she can’t even consider parting with her best friend. She met the dog the very last day of her childhood, he was there with her when she was near death, and he’s here with her now. _He’s all she has left_ . No, she’d rather be caught with her dog than allow _‘fate’_ to take one more thing from her.

“ _Alright boys_ , place your bets! _Are there any_ _RATS in the larder?_ ” A voice rings out, _so_ familiar and yet unrecognizable in its tone.

Sparrow’s heart pounds in her chest, eyes shut tight; the dog’s fur bristling. 

_THUD_

A sharp knock hits the lid and she clutches the dog as though her life depends on it.

“Oh just come out would you? I _know_ someone is in there.” He almost sounds _playful_ , a malicious grin spread wide across his face, _Dragonstomper_ at the ready. “Did you _honestly_ think I would make it that easy?” 

Her eyelids squeeze tightly as she tries to keep the tears from coming. The crate was _bait._ Of _course_ it was...She is an _idiot_ , too hasty in her desperation to escape her fate. Now she and her dog are at the mercy of this sicko... _and it’s all her fault._

She stands up slowly, pushing the lid aside with ease, hands up in submission. Her eyes cast downward, she doesn’t even see the look of pure shock and confusion on his face until he speaks, drawing her attention.

“ _You_ ,” he almost whispers. “ _You?”_ He steps closer, plastering that sickening smile across his face once again, grazing her chest with the barrel of his gun. “ _You_ , have gotten yourself in a _lot_ of trouble, _young lady_.”

Her stomach feels as though she’s swallowed a rock. This was quite apparently the same man she’d danced with in the Tavern; the same handsome features, the same unnaturally suave mannerisms, but none of the kindness, _none of the patience_ . Her shame is compounded, _what a fool she was_.

“ _You know_ ,” he prods the gun into her sternum. “I’m still a bit cross with you for running out on me like that earlier,” his laughter fills the cabin, low and dark. “You almost had me there, with that song...but _no one_ stows away on my ship, no matter how lovely.”

He flinches, imperceivably to anyone else, as a droplet hits his beloved gun. His gaze follows upward to see that she’s _crying_ . _Crying! The nerve…_ With an elegant twirl he holsters the Dragonstomper, instead ever so gently gripping her chin to center her attention on him. 

“No one stows away... _but_ , I’ll show mercy, _just this once_ .” He pauses a moment, drinking in her reaction as she makes those big moon eyes at him, he licks his lips reflexively; ignoring the confused whispers of his crew. “ _Go back to Bowerlake, little bird_.”

“ _NO!_ ” She howls, instinctively tearing away from him. “I’m _begging_ you, _please_ don’t make me go; I _can’t-”_

A gloved fingertip silences her once more, and he eyes her quizzically. She was scared when she got caught, of course, but as his eyes take in her form- _shaking and damn near feral with panic_ , he sees that _he_ is not what she’s afraid of.

“What is it that you’re so _desperately_ running away from?” He thinks aloud, not _truly_ expecting an answer.

“ _Destiny_ ,” she hisses, the barest whispers of a fire building within her.

He leans against the edge of the crate, invading her space; trying in vain to hide his smirk as he chases her fury. “You’re going to have to be more _specific_.”

She leans in, their noses almost touching, face curling up into a snarl. “All my life I’ve been told what my _destiny_ is, that I live for _one_ purpose.” For a moment, her eyes squeeze shut, before piercing into his with renewed vigor. “Tonight was my _very first_ taste of freedom. If you make me leave this ship, _she’ll drag me back kicking and screaming_ …” She looks away from him, digging half moons into her palms. “...and I’ll never enjoy myself again.”

He stares at her with a sharp inhale. Anyone else, and he would applaud their theatrics with enthusiastic sarcasm... _but her_ , he had lived long enough to know she meant every word. It all makes sense now; her strange shyness, the way she fled the tavern at the first whispers of dawn, _her song_ … He’s no closer to figuring out why she seems so _familiar_ , but perhaps he doesn’t need to know. This poor girl has never known a day of _true_ freedom in her life, and he can’t bring himself to snuff her adventurous spirit.

He exhales deeply, locking eyes with her. “ _Very well_ , I’ll take you as far as the next port; but _you’re on your own from there_.”

Her face _lights up_ , and she embraces her canine companion tightly, pressing her tear-streaked face into the warm fur as the dog grumbles happily. 

“Ah! There is _one_ issue,” the captain pipes up. “The _fleabag_ has to go.”

Sparrow’s grip on the dog grows tighter as she stares up at him in disbelief. “ _N-No_ , you _can’t-_ ”

“ _I’m_ Captain of this ship, and I can do _whatever_ I please.” He looks down at her like the spider watches the fly caught in its web. “The _dog_ goes, or you _both_ go; it’s _your_ decision.”

Hot tears roll down her face; her eyes locked desperately on him. “I _can’t_ leave my dog, I- _I_ , he’s been with me all my life,” she heaves. “ _I’ll do anything._ ”

“ _Anything?_ ” His features light up with amusement. 

Her nails dig into the dog’s fur nervously, panic thoroughly setting in, the animal leans into her, offering some attempt at comfort. Her eyes squeeze tightly shut before she looks up at him in total defeat. “ _Anything_ ,” she whispers.

“In _that_ case,” he beams, offering his hand to her. “ _I’ll see you to my chambers._ ”

A shiver runs down Sparrow’s spine as she takes his hand; fairly certain she knows his intentions. The Captain helps her out of the box, and the dog bounds loyally after her.

“You look frightened,” he observes, offering his arm as he leads her down the halls. 

She’s looking away from him, eyes downcast as she hesitantly takes his arm. “...I don’t _know_ you.”

He’s _slightly_ offended by her reluctance toward his _very polite_ gesture, but he makes no mention of it. “You knew me even _less_ when we danced the night away.”

“ _That’s different,_ ” she snaps, a bit too hastily. Regret instantly blooming on her face. She scratches anxiously at her forearm, terrified of offending him and landing herself back on the dock... _back at Bowerlake_ . “ _That’s_...different,” she repeats, much more softly.

“That was _before_ you stowed away on my ship,” he guesses. “You’re _afraid_ of me now.”

“ _Cautious_ ,” she corrects. “And... _nervous_.”

“ _Nervous?_ ” He feels her nails dig into his arm, though he suspects she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Anxiety’s been no stranger to him in his long _long_ life, so he allows it to go _unnoticed._

She shakes her head, as if to jumble her thoughts into a cohesive sentence. “I’ve...never been this _close_ to anyone before,” she bites at the inside of her cheek, trying to focus, scared to say the wrong words. “Except for _sparring_ , but...it’s not the same, is it?”

He laughs in earnest, winning a cautious smile from the girl. “Not _quite_ , no.” He comes to a stop at an ornately carved door, brilliantly red rubies set into the frame. “ _Shall we?_ ”

She takes a shaky breath, nodding at him nervously. He holds the door open for her, the _picture_ of gentlemanliness. 

She’s surprised by what she sees; the room is warm and nice; small treasures line the shelves, and the bedding looks plush and _expensive_ , but on whole it’s very much not unlike the rest of the ship. Solid wood, nothing _too_ extravagant...much more humble than she expected from a man like him. 

He steps in behind her, leaning in a bit too close, lips at her ear. “ _Cozy, isn’t it?_ ”

She fights the instinct to put distance between herself and him, unused to the closeness, but afraid to offend. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but she can’t find the words; in truth, she had never in her life been somewhere so _warm_ this season- _save for the castle_ -but this...was incomparable. Even as a child Castle Fairfax felt off, _wrong_ , devoid of life; The Captain’s quarters were warm and inviting...like the mead from the tavern; it was almost intoxicating.

“ _Speechless?_ ” He teases, giving a playful shake to her shoulders before moving past her, shrugging his heavy cloak off over his shoulder.

“It’s all new to me,” she averts her eyes uncomfortably as the layers of armor and clothing fall to the floor; she doesn’t consider herself particularly modest, and it’s not as though she’s never seen a shirtless man-but something about the way he watches her as he undresses feels so... _indecent_ to her. “I don’t even know what to _say_.”

“Then don’t speak-” He moves past her again, seeming to only _half_ pay attention while he searches for something in his closet. “ _Aha!_ Here we are…” he pulls a _gorgeously_ detailed lute into view, offering it to her. “- _Sing._ ”

She takes the damn thing gingerly as though it’s a newborn child; terrified to hold something that _must_ be important to be so finely decorated.

“ _Don’t be shy_ , My Dear; I don’t play.” He hikes his trousers down, causing her to instinctively look away, big moon eyes suddenly invested in the ceiling’s fine craftsmanship. “ _Poor thing’s_ been gathering dust in my closet waiting for the right set of hands to bring it to life.” He laughs, kicking the pants under his bed before crawling into his blankets. Of _course_ he would be the type to sleep naked.

“I-I don’t understand,” she stammers. “I, _I thought-_ ”

He sighs contentedly, resting his arms behind his head as he reclines against the overstuffed pillows. “Oh I _know_ what you thought,” he grins that devilish grin. “Perhaps another night... _but only if you beg_.”

She laughs at him, quietly but genuinely, much more comfortable now. “Oh aren’t _you_ a gentleman,” she teases, beginning to tune the instrument.

He perks up, amused grin splitting his face. “Oh look at _you_ ; I _knew_ you had some fight in you.”

She smiles at him sheepishly. “ _More than you know._ ”

“You don’t get the opportunity to talk much, do you?”

She shakes her head. “Is it that obvious?”

He frowns, frustrated with the fool who thought to stifle this gorgeous young woman. Her surface was clearly tarnished by years of isolation and traumas undisclosed to him, but a bit of polishing and he _knew_ the vibrancy underneath would be blinding... _He had a few days before they’d reach the next port._

She gives the freshly tuned lute a test strum, and smiles happily at the gorgeous hum of the chords. “I think we’re all set!” The words come out too quickly in her eagerness to move past the awkward topic.

“Then by all means,” he smiles back. “ _Dazzle me._ ”

She takes a deep breath before she begins, always nervous before a performance, as though she’ll suddenly forget how to play-or she’ll simply not be good enough. The tune she plays is _melodious enough_ , but Reaver _swears_ it sounds familiar. It puts him on edge; and he can’t place why...at least not until she opens her mouth.

“ _Down by the reeds~”_ Her voice rings out, and his eyes shoot wide open. “ _Down by-_ ”

“ _NO_ ,” he cuts her off rather harshly, sitting straight up in his bed, palms pressed against his temples. “Not _that_ song.”

She stares at him quizzically, eyes wide with shock. “It’s a _classic_ , I thought you’d-”

“You thought _wrong_ ,” he growls, staring at her with undue fury. His eyes soften as he looks at her, staring back at him with those big moon eyes. The way she almost _trembles_ as she stands frozen in her place forms a ball of guilt in his stomach that sits like a rock. He leans forward, reaching out for her. “Come here,” he bids, patting the end of the bed. “Sit, play me that song you sang at the tavern.”

A blush rushes to her cheeks as she clutches the lute tightly to her chest. “You... _liked_ that?”

“It was _beautiful_ ,” he smiles wistfully. “When you live as long as _I_ do, everything else gets…” his face contorts as though there was a bad taste in his mouth. “... _old_. Somehow, I’ve never heard that song before.”

“That’s because _I_ wrote it,” there is an uneasy pride in her voice-she isn’t quite sure she believes him, but she _wants_ to. “Tonight was the first time _anyone’s_ heard it.”

“Such _talent_ ,” he grins lazily. “Perhaps someday you’ll write a song about _me_ .” He pats the bed again. “Now, _come here_ , sing for me.”

She smiles at him, small but genuine. Her music was one of the few comforts she had been able to steal for _herself_ growing up. Theresa considered it a waste of time, of course, and made no secret of it. When she was quite young, a kindly traveller had gifted her a lute, small and simple, not the _best_ sound, but perfect for a child to learn on. Sparrow held so much pain in her heart; she drew from that pain for her songs, singing deeply from within. It was... _cathartic_. When one morning she woke to find the little lute destroyed, it had almost felt like losing a treasured friend.

She finds her perch at the edge of his bed; sinking further than intended into the plush bedding.

“ _There_ you are, lovely.”

She sighs contentedly as she strums the chords, easing into the familiar tune. He watches her with increasingly heavy eyelids as she sings, never quite taking his eyes off of her. No, he can’t place why she is so familiar to him, but he decides it doesn’t matter; she is _intriguing_ all on her own. It doesn’t matter _why_ she’s so inherently fascinating, she is much more interesting in her own right. She’s like a puzzle box, _gorgeous_ to look at, with a mysterious prize inside. He decides he will not be satisfied until he claims that prize for himself.

She pauses, giving him an incredulous, if playful, look. “You know, you’ll never fall asleep if you don’t shut your eyes.”

“And miss a minute of your performance?” He chuckles, and the sound makes her heart flutter in spite of herself. “You’re beautiful when you play...almost as beautiful as _me_.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are _insufferable_ ,” she insists, but the smile on her face tells him otherwise.

“And yet, _here you are,_ ” he yawns, looking the picture of innocence.

“Here I am, _suffering_ ,” she teases with a grin.

“ _Clever tongue,”_ he praises, pleased to see her peeking out of her shell. “ _Now_...put that clever tongue to good use, and sing your song.”

She shakes her head with an exasperated smile, repositioning the lute in her lap. She makes a point not to stare at him, but she can’t help feeling a sense of pride as his eyes fall shut.


End file.
